


A Crystal on a String

by AllTheFoolsFallInLove



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bond to the Rescue, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27855654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheFoolsFallInLove/pseuds/AllTheFoolsFallInLove
Summary: Q was at his wits end. After a terrible day during a disastrous week in a hellish month he was now trapped in a room full of colleagues who had imbibed far too much mulled wine and were acting far too cosy for his standards.orQ is having a bad night and Bond comes to his rescue.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 11
Kudos: 166





	A Crystal on a String

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to see if I could still write. Let me know what you think!

Q was at his wits end. After a terrible day during a disastrous week in a hellish month he was now trapped in a room full of colleagues who had imbibed far too much mulled wine and were acting far too cosy for his standards. Some had tried to chat with him about field prototypes in the hope of being assigned a new toy. Others had attempted to entice him into giving up embarrassing agent stories he’d witnessed while running missions. The head of accounting had cornered him no less than four times to try to discuss the double-oh program budget, a conversation that should rarely ever be had and never while one party was well and truly sloshed. All of this would have been par the course for an MI6 holiday party but this year had the added benefit of being a joint celebration with MI5 meaning that MI5’s head of IT was also attending. After a rather abysmal attempt at a date more than a month prior and the man’s incessant emails attempting to secure a second date, Q had done what he considered a rather good job of avoiding the man completely in the hopes of tempering his determination, but that seemed to be all for naught as he was forced to skirt around the ballroom to keep as much distance between himself and his would be suitor as possible. 

It also hadn’t escaped his notice that Bond had been watching his plight from his post against the bar and seemed to grow more and more amused as the night wore on. Q would have hated the man for it had he not made sure that the boffin had a fresh drink in his hand every time his loop took him past the bar. The brunette wasn’t exactly sure what the drink was but it was sparkling, tasted of cherries, and was mercifully free of alcohol. The next time his circuit took him past the bar he stopped and leaned next to Bond, hoping against all hope that the universal fear and awe of the man would keep people away. 

“Getting your exercise, Q?” Bond’s voice held a tinge of laughter but it was softened by the glass he slid toward the younger man.

“Were I not afraid of Eve making good on her threat to lock me in my office until I finished my missing paperwork I wouldn’t have come in the first place.” Q grumbled back. He took a moment to survey the room and pinpoint any who might be drunk or stupid enough to try to approach him and his impromptu and unconsenting guard dog. Bond was decent enough not to call him on it. “Shit.” He turned to face the bar and hoped that the eye contact he’d mistakenly made with IT hadn’t lasted long enough to actually attract the man’s attention. Bond, of course, missed none of this.

“Friend of yours? He’s been tracking you all night. Almost caught you by the DJ your third time around.” Q spared the man an annoyed look before grabbing the blond’s glass and tossing back the rest. Like all things Bond enjoyed, it was expensive and crossed his tongue smoothly before burning the back of his throat.

“Apparently he finds me exceedingly interesting.” He said with a wince.

“Well you can’t fault the man for that.” Bond murmured back, waving the bartender down for another drink. Q shot him an irritated look before returning his gaze to the bar, praying that the dark wood would swallow him and end this wretched evening. “Who is he? He’s too old for an intern and too young for a branch head. Anyone else would know better than to cross you.”

“His name is Evan, he’s the head of IT for MI5.” Q replied in a measured tone, hoping that he wouldn’t have to explain the entire situation but knowing that Bond was like a bloodhound when he scented blackmail material. He could see the older man’s smirk from the corner of his eye and knew that the agent was already putting the pieces together.

“How many dates?” His eyes had never seemed more shark-like than in this moment.

“One. He talked about banal system updates that are five years out of date and tried to play footsie under the table before the first course arrived.” Q sipped his drink, “It was like talking to a horny grad student. A stupid one at that.” Bond’s chuckle managed to lighten Q’s mood a shade.

“He must not be too terribly stupid if you agreed to a date with him.” The blond tipped his head toward Q, studying him.

“I was three days into a mission bender and I’d just spent two hours in a joint meeting that I had no reason being in and he managed to end it before my eyeballs melted from boredom. I wasn’t at my best. I probably would have agreed to marriage if it would have gotten me back to Q-Branch faster.” The boffin looked over at Bond, “A certain agent had just gotten himself into a gunfight in Cairo and was refusing to listen to his handler so I was rather pressed for time.” 

“That handler was an idiot and would have gotten me killed if I listened to him.” Q hummed, sipping his drink.

“Probably, but it certainly would have been a lesson for him. Don’t worry, he’s no longer allowed on mission coms. He’ll be reorganizing Boothroyd’s prototype backstock for the next two months as it is anyway.” Bond huffed out a chuckle.

“Glad to know we field agents make such useful education tools.” The teasing tone in Bond’s voice settled something in Q and the younger man relaxed further against the bar as he held the blond’s gaze. 

“Quite.” For the first time all night Q felt a smile hiding at the corner of his lips. The moment was short lived as he heard a throat being cleared behind him. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves he picked up his drink and turned with the blandest, most professional look he could manage. “Evan. Good evening.” The man’s lecherous smile didn’t bode well for his sanity.

“Quartermaster. Fancy seeing you here.” The man gave Q a once over that made his skin crawl and stepped just close enough to be improper for polite conversation. Q leaned back into the bar in what he hoped was a casual manner but really was his strongest attempt at putting space between them.

“Yes, how odd for me to be at the holiday party for the organization I’ve worked for for more than a decade.” He glanced over at Bond, hoping the man would take the walther he knew to be hiding under the agent’s jacket and put him out of his misery. The blond merely sipped his drink and gave him a mild smile. The glance was enough to peak Evan’s interest.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Evan.” The man pressed a hand out to Bond and before Q could introduce him the agent slipped his hand into what was likely to be a pissing contest and smiled.

“James.” After a second too long to be considered friendly, they released each other. The tinge of red across the IT head’s face and the relaxed tilt of Bond’s head was enough to deduce the winner. 

“And do you work in Q-branch?” The smaller man slipped his likely aching hand into his pocket.

“Occasionally.” Q did his best not to roll his eyes. By occasionally Bond meant that he occasionally was too injured to immediately return to the field but not too injured to avoid making a nuisance of himself so he was assigned to Q-branch to test prototypes. “Though typically I see our dear Q outside of the office.” This was true only because Eve had unofficially assigned Bond the duty of making sure Q was fed and home a decent hour when the agent was in country and the three plus Tanner had a standing pub night once a month barring missions or calamitous events. Evan glanced between the two men consideringly,

“And what exactly is it that you do for MI6?” Q nearly choked on his drink. The question was not only extremely taboo at functions such as this, it also edged into dangerous territories that were buried in mountains of legal paperwork, numerous laws, and frankly over a quarter of the work Q had personally done at MI6 to make sure that his staff and agents were protected. Bond sipped his drink placidly and eyed the man.

“This and that. Whatever is necessary for Queen and Country.” He stared the man down for a second and appeared completely relaxed though Q could see the slight tic of his jaw. “How long have you been with MI5?” The younger man glanced back at the boffin.

“Just about eight months, though if Q has told you about me I’m surprised he didn’t tell you that as well.” Q wanted so badly to toss his drink at the man to see if it would wipe the smug look off his face on its way to the ground. Bond smirked around his glass.

“Oh Q hasn’t told me about you,” he eyed the man up and down, “you’re just not exactly the MI6 type, are you?” He caught Q’s eye as he returned to his drink and the two men actively ignored the flush of rage that slipped across Evan’s face. Q couldn’t help the smile he hid behind his own drink. 

Evan brushed his hands down his suit jacket and turned to Q with what was clearly meant to be a debonair smile though the effort was wasted on Q who had spent years building a tolerance to the looks the double-oh’s used to seduce targets in the field, looks which they regularly attempted to turn on him and his subordinates in the hopes of getting new and untested equipment.

“Well Q, I was hoping to entice you into a dance. Care to join me?” The man’s eyes glittered with seduction, but that too fell flat. 

Before Q could construct an excuse he felt a warm hand slip across his lower back and was suddenly immersed in the warmth and scent of the agent next to him. He instinctively leaned in and attempted an innocent look.

“I’m afraid I’ve already promised a dance to James. You understand.” He hoped against hope that the man would accept this as a subtle rejection. In any case the man’s reply was irrelevant as Bond took that moment to swallow the last of his scotch before pulling Q to the dance floor without even a nod in the IT director’s direction. The two joined the throng of people and Bond flaunted the skills which regularly had him sent to white tie galas rather than war torn wastelands. They moved effortlessly around the floor and Q couldn’t help the chuckle that left him as he caught sight of the sour look on Evan’s face. 

“Having a better time then, are you?” Bond’s breath whispered across his ear, sending a shiver down his back. Q turned to look at the man, spare inches separating them. 

“I believe I am. And how is your night faring, 007?” He ignored the fact that he hadn’t had enough scotch to excuse the flirtatious tone in his voice and dared the man to call him out on it. The blond smirked and guided guided him across the floor, between other dancers, and without a step out of place, all while keeping him just a few inches away. 

“Better than I expected it would. It seems that I’ve managed to enact a rescue mission and find myself a rather gifted dance partner.” The quirk of his eyebrow left Q feeling rather light. “Where did you find the time to learn to dance between mastering coding languages and becoming an engineering genius?”

“I learned the same way I expect you did, after all, all young men should know how to dance, or so I’ve been told.” The song ended soon after that and Q caught sight of Evan once more making his way toward them. He sighed deeply.

“How on earth is the head of an IT department that bloody stupid?” Q groaned. Bond chuckled and before Evan could reach them swept Q into another dance. Evan stopped at the edge of the floor and looked rather disgruntled. 

“Do you trust me?” Bond asked, eyes darting around the room the same way Q was accustomed to seeing over CCTVs during missions. 

“That’s rather a loaded question in this room.” Q murmured back. Bond’s eyes darted to the younger man’s face and his mouth curved into a smirk. Their eyes caught and Q was unsurprised to find a gentle warmth in the eyes that were regularly described around MI6 as cold and icy. They both knew the answer.

Without a word of warning Bond turned them from the floor and slipped an arm around Q, gently guiding him through the mess of drunken government workers and towards the coat check. He slid their tickets across the counter and Q made the executive decision not to question when the agent had slipped the paper out of his pocket. 

Within a minute they were bundled and headed out the door to the valet. Q considered making his excuses and taking the train but after months of having his own double-oh chauffeur it was the most natural thing in the world to slip into the passenger seat of Bond’s Aston Martin and settle back against the warm leather seats.

The drive was comfortable and quiet, the purr of the engine and the rush of the city around them the only sounds. The lights of the city bounced around the cabin, illuminating Bond in short bursts and sliding along the planes of his face like the caress of a lover. Q found himself more relaxed than he’d been in months, the soft joy of escaping a crowd mingling with the comfort of Bond’s presence. The younger man closed his eyes and relaxed in the seat, pretending that he couldn’t feel the other man’s gaze slip across to him every now and then. 

They arrived at Q’s flat with little fanfare and by unspoken agreement exited the car, the same way they would any other time Bond dropped him off. On a typical night Bond would accompany him to his floor and wait while he checked over his apartment. The short elevator ride to Q’s floor was silent, but unlike the car ride, the air now held a slight tension, like the taste of ozone on your tongue just before a storm. When the doors opened to Q’s floor he was surprised to find that he stepped out alone. He hesitated for a moment and imagined walking to his door, tossing a goodnight to Bond, and spending the night wrapped up on the couch with his cats. 

“Q?” Bond’s voice held no expectation, no seduction, only a gentle curiosity spun around with slight concern. Just like that the decision was made. Q turned back to the other man.

“Come inside?” They held each other's gazes, the moment suspended like a crystal on a string: delicate and weighted. Bond studied him for a long moment, long enough for the elevator door to begin to close and for Q to feel a trickle of regret. He watched as the blond disappeared behind the steel and felt an ache sprout in his chest before the agent caught the door with inches to spare and gently forced it back open. His grey blue eyes showed none of the previous concern and he stepped out of the elevator without hesitation, a soft smile growing on his face. Q ducked his head as he stepped backwards towards his door, licking his lips and glancing back up at the agent before finally he finally turned to unlock his door, feeling giddier than he thought a grown man had any right to. He felt Bond’s hand slip around his waist the way it had at the party and looked back at him, finding the blonde’s gaze already caught on his face. Without another word they stepped into the dark apartment and let the door close behind them, locking away the world and settling them into a cocoon of warmth and possibility.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Paytonator96 for continued support and for reading other things instead of watching me type this out. If anyone likes my style please drop a prompt!


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